Sunny Santa Fe Would Be Nice

The New York Times is reading my mind and spotlighting all these places that I want to visit in America. This week? Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Thanks for piquing my interest even further, Fred Bernstein.

Bernstein's adventures in Santa Fe include visiting a variety of places: a farmer's market, artsy and "striking" homes (in contrast to the standard terra cotta ones found in the Southwest), and an indoor-outdoor flea market. Bernstein also spends a portion of Saturday mountain biking on a trail that has some short, though "pretty steep" hills and "gorgeous" scenery.

He also mentions Canyon Road, a road that runs from the center of town and boasts over 100 art galleries. On any given Friday night, he says, "you'd have to be crazy to pay for a glass of white wine," as there are several gallery openings to attend.

My appreciation of visual art is minimal at best—I've been to places such as the Met, and while I enjoy what I've seen, I don't quite "understand" it as a visually-inclined aesthete might.

That said, I'd love to spend a night attending a bunch of gallery openings—with free wine to boot.

For those seeking a less cosmopolitan version of Santa Fe, it's likely best to center your visit in The Plaza, which Bernstein identifies as the "heart of old Santa Fe."

The Plaza seems to reflect most accurately the mental image I've created of Santa Fe—the historical place that maintains the influence of the Spanish and Native American settlement in years past.

Bernstein states that "Santa Fe isn't a night-life town," which I think I'd appreciate more if I lived there. As a visitor, some night-life would be fun, although I'd prefer venues of the low-key variety.

And as always, I'm intrigued by the food. Bernstein mentions a lot of seafood (a food group I don't particularly love), but usually, even seafood-based restaurants are diverse enough for me to find items that I enjoy.

In particular, Bernstein mentions having eaten at La Boca (an appropriate name, if you ask me), a contemporary tapas restaurant, and Restaurant Martín, which is run by a local man. Since I'm such a foodie, I checked out the menus online, but I'm not overly impressed. I've never gravitated towards the small portioned, high-priced, overly fancy restaurants, which the latter, in particular, seems to be.

But overall—Santa Fe seems great.

Everything's Like a Dream in Kansas City

36 Hours is a New York Times column in which the columnist spends 36 hours in a particular city and chronicles his/her journeys and experiences and offers suggestions on places to visit while in town.

In this week's column, Charly Wilder visits Kansas City, Missouri, a city I'd previously identified as one of the top five in the country I'd most like to visit.

Despite really wanting to visit, I didn't know how much Kansas City had to offer to the average visitor beyond fantastic barbeque and a fun music scene.

Wilder says that "Kansas City is said to have more fountains than any other city except Rome," which I was surprised to learn. While aesthetically, Rome (and other European cities, for that matter) probably has the edge, I'd still love to see what Kansas City has to offer.

There also appears to be a bigger art scene than I believed there to be. Yes, there's a great indie music scene, which, of all the artsy things the city has to offer, I think I'd enjoy the most. But there's also the Crossroads Art District, which is home to over 70 galleries, the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art (it's free to the public!), and a few fashion boutiques (which couldn't be less interesting to me, but are likely of fascination to at least a few people).

Wilder also speaks of "the flashy new Kansas City Power and Light District," which sounds rather unenjoyable; Wilder describes it as an area "that can feel like an open-air fraternity party." No thanks.
He offers a "smarter alternative" in West Bottoms, a district that holds what seems to be a true gem: The Mutual Musicians Foundation. Every Saturday, from midnight until about 6am, the establishment, which opened in 1917, holds public jam sessions that can be enjoyed for just $8. Yes, please!

And as always, there's some delicious cuisine to be had. In addition to the famous barbeque, Wilder also enjoys Midwestern Mediterranean-style tapas and Mexican food, which is evidently "a big deal" in the city.

I'm sure it's all great, but really, I just want some delicious barbeque. I'm craving it desperately now.

Mad World

I spent this past weekend in New York City, to celebrate the birthday of a close friend.

For those who have been following the news, you know that this past weekend, the police found a bomb in a car parked in Times Square.

Since we spent most of the evening and night out and about, we weren't aware that anything so serious had happened in the city until we got back to our hotel room late that night. We sat in our beds and watched the late night/early morning press conference unfold.

That hotel, by the way, was conveniently located about eight streets uptown from Times Square.

Times Square was up and running by the next morning; we walked through it en route to Penn Station, and it was as though nothing had happened the night before. One would never have known the streets were closed merely 10 hours earlier.

But it's a strange (and slightly surreal) feeling to be in such close proximity to something of that nature.

When you think about it abstractly, anything can happen, anywhere, anytime—a person isn't safe 100 percent of the time.

But people (myself included) hardly ever think about that on a day to day basis. And with good reason—I imagine it'd be harder to find the motivation to move beyond your comfort zone/home if you were too busy being impeded by slightly irrational fear.

Still, traveling can sometimes be a scary experience, and most times, events like this take you by surprise.

So I guess the lesson emphasized by this weekend's excursion is just to be careful, wherever you are. I suppose that sounds a bit like an after school special, but I prefer to look at it as some good, old-fashioned pragmatism.